


Atom Awakened

by BawdryWeirdsley



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Romance, Backstory, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Commonwealth (Fallout), Consensual Kink, Cults, Elder God, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Goodneighbor (Fallout), Horror, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Plot, Post-Apocalypse, Power Exchange, Power Play, Romance, Sanctuary Hills (Fallout), Survival Horror, The Minutemen (Fallout) - Freeform, The Railroad (Fallout)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BawdryWeirdsley/pseuds/BawdryWeirdsley
Summary: Nuclear apocalypse, the perilous wastelands of the Commonwealth, the battle with the Institute. Nate has survived them all. He might even have a future here if he can bring himself to let go of the past. Slowly but surely the Commonwealth is healing. Crops are being planted, new Settlements are going up, civilization is returning.But in the Glowing Sea the children of Atom have been calling, and it seems that something may have answered them.At first it’s just Caravans going missing, but then whole Settlements begin to disappear and an evil fog covers the land, from which strange voices whisper. The roads aren’t safe, and without the roads and the Caravans, everything Nate and the Minutemen have worked so hard to create will be lost.Once again Nate and his friends must venture out into the hostile wastelands to track down the source of a new evil.





	1. Sanctuary Hills

Halfway between Vault 111 and Sanctuary Hills- that was where he’d buried her, beneath a scavenged marker of acid-pocked granite. In this respect Nora was no different than himself- than Danse, Nick. Any of them. Perpetually trapped halfway between _ What Was _ and _ What Is Now. _

Preston and Strurges, and Marcy Long (who he was beginning to suspect had a heart hidden under all those spines and prickles)- had gone back into the Vault for her body, and for those of the other Vault Dwellers. Nate hadn’t wanted to descend into that uncanny tomb again, to see the pod that might have served as his own coffin if things had gone differently. 

They were settling 111 now- why not? It was safe down there- comparatively-all but untouched by the decay that had claimed the rest of the Commonwealth, and yet Nate clung stubbornly to Sanctuary with all the other In-Between people for whom Diamond City and The Castle and the orderly regimens of the reclaimed vaults felt too much like imprisonment. 

“We can settle anywhere,” Danse would say when he caught Nate staring too long at some artifact unearthed from the corrupted soil behind what had once been the family home. A rope of blue glass beads caked with earth had been the most recent one- had Nora used to wear something like that, or were his memories of her as patched and faded as the world itself? He put it into the dresser drawer with the rusted space rocket from the mobile, a small shoe curled with age like a mummified limb, a quarter with the State of Massachusetts on the back. Memories.

_ Are they even your memories at all? _ But no- Far Harbor was something he didn’t intend to dwell on. Not yet. Not with Danse still grappling with his own identity.

What Danse meant when he said _We can settle anywhere_ was_ Can you live a new life on top of the memories of the old one? _The ex-Paladin was sensitive to the moods of others in a way that most of the rest of them would never see. He kept that side of himself for Nate. Danse needed Nate- he needed him to be strong, to be a survivor. He needed Nate to believe that there was a future to shore up his own lack of belief, but Nate needed Danse too. Nate was worried about him, worried that he’d let him down, if not now then later. That his belief would fail him.

He sighed. Nora would have believed. She’d always been the tough one. Perhaps The Castle _ would _ have been better- safer, certainly. He knew that Preston would have preferred the Minutemen’s General quartered there- and yet there was still that small part of him that couldn’t make the leap over the gap between past and future.

The past felt close to him here, and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it yet.

The gravesite was about as peaceful a place as you could find in the Commonwealth. Sanctuary Hills lay below him, ringed with strong junk walls, the streets busy with settlers, smoke rising up from the cookhouse, crops marking orderly rows between the tatterdemalion dwellings.

_ Almost like a real town again. _

Vault 111 was above him, hidden from sight. He could hear a stream trickling somewhere nearby (no need to dwell on the toxicity of the water) and the scrubby vegetation that was tangled around the roots of the bare trees rustled in an almost-pleasant breeze. He’d long since become accustomed to the smell of this world- dust and char and rusted iron- a weary smell somehow, and the late morning air seemed almost fresh to him.The hubflowers planted on Nora’s grave nodded and bowed, petals gleaming blue-black.

Beautiful things, really. There were still a few beautiful things left. In a way they were more beautiful than the tortuously manicured lawns of the Sanctuary Hills he’d known before the War. What would they have thought of the new community, the people who lay in the earth below him? If they’d survived and he’d died in his pod, would they have been Survivors? Would they have made the crossing between the old world and the new one intact?

Had he?

_ You’re alive aren’t you? _

He thought the voice in his head was Nora’s...but he suddenly found that he couldn’t quite recall what she’d sounded like.

* * *

“Are those for Mama Murphy?”

Nate frowned at Danse, then remembered. He held up the hubflowers. They’d started to wilt and the petals had lost some of their gloss.

“No, for the house. I thought they might brighten the place up.”

“Good idea,” said Danse. It was still odd to Nate to see him without his Power Armor, but fusion cores were in short supply and they saved them for their forays beyond the walls. Danse was a tall man and a strong man, but he still looked vulnerable without that metal shell. His plain white T-shirt was stained with dirt and his jeans had a fresh hole at the knee and Nate felt a rush of tenderness towards him that almost banished the melancholy of the graveside. This was real. Danse was real. The only thing tying him to the past was himself.

“Shaun will like them. I think I saw a vase over at the Scavenger station yesterday.”

Nate laughed. “You don’t have to humor me, I forgot how quickly they die once you tear them up.”

“We should plant some in the yard, there’s still room.”

“Sure,” said Nate. “But I’ll bring these over to the med bay after lunch.”

Mama Murphy had kicked the chems many months ago, but she’d proved to be something of a genius in cooking them up. Nate knew that Garvey disapproved- _It’s a needless temptation!_ But they needed medicine, and their attempts to find a real doctor had proved fruitless so far.

Danse too was unhappy about the concocting of the more questionable chems, but he’d so far managed to hold his peace. Nate figured he had enough on his plate without worrying about a few caravanners slamming Psycho. The roads were no safer now than they had been before The Institute fell, and the Caravanners were allowed a little leeway with the Minutemen’s rules.

“Are you alright?”

Nate sighed and dropped the dying flowers onto the coffee table.

“I think so.”

Danse came towards him, and wrapped his arms around him pulling him into a hug. Even now Nate’s eyes flicked towards the glassless window to see if they were observed.

_ No one cares. All that bullshit has been in its grave for two hundred years. One of the few good things about the Commonwealth- No one gives a damn if you shack up with a woman or a man. _

He closed his eyes and rested his head on Danse’s shoulder, feeling a little more of that lingering sadness drain out of him.

“You smell good,” he said. “You’ve been digging?”

“Yes,” said Danse. “Carrots. I can’t eat any more melon. I taste it in my sleep.”

Nate pressed his face to the warm flesh and breathed in. “You smell like earth- and like you.”

He felt Danse stiffen slightly, and hugged him tighter. “Hey, take the compliment. Stop looking for the dark cloud attached to the silver lining.”

“How did you know?”

Nate pulled back, smiled. “Because I know you. I love you, you idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We’ll get through this.”

They would. He had to believe it._ If nothing else, who would put up with either one of us who wasn’t either one of us? _Each of their psyches was like a ruined building, peppered with emotional fragmentation mines.

_ Can’t mention that Danse smells good after he spends a morning sweating in the yard, because it reminds him that he isn’t human and he doesn’t sweat for real and every part of him is the result of some loveless schematic drawn up in a lab. _

_ Can’t tell Nate he’s done a great job making this demolished house look like a home without summoning those two ghosts who refuse to stay dead- one of whom is probably driving Sturges crazy over the road right now. _

Thinking of his son (_But which version of him! Another frag mine goes boom_!) restarted the familiar pang of worry in his chest.

“Have you seen Shaun since breakfast?” 

“Don’t worry about him,” said Danse. “He’s with Sturges. And Dogmeat, of course. They’re still working on that foolish vehicle.”

“It won’t be foolish if they get it going,” said Nate. “It’ll change everything.”

“I don’t see why we need it,” said Danse, stubbornly.

Nate shook his head, smiling. “You’re thinking with your Brotherhood brain, hon. The Caravans are vulnerable. After what happened in Quincy last month everyone’s scared. Settlements are running low on supplies all over the Commonwealth, and the Cavanners who do make runs are so bugged out on Psycho they’re as likely to shoot each other as any rogue Deathclaw.”

“You still think that’s what it was?” said Danse. “A Deathclaw?”

Nate shrugged. “What else it could it have been? If we can get cars running again- trucks- it will save lives.”

Danse opened his mouth to argue, but Nate stilled his protest with a kiss.

“It probably won’t work anyway. Besides, you can hardly call it new tech. Cars were old when I was young.”

“You’re not old.”

“I’m two hundred years older than you, which means two hundred years wiser, which means you have to agree with me. Plus, I’m a General.”

Danse shook his head. “Taking advantage of your rank is not the behavior of a decent soldier.”

“I’m more of an indecent soldier. Want proof?”

* * *

The fabric that hung over the shattered bedroom windows was Vault salvage and in good enough repair to hide them from view, but the sounds of the Settlement still bled into the room. Hammering, muffled conversation, the lowing of a Brahmin.

It was in moments like this when Nate could see the appeal of a vault or a sturdy stone wall, and yet these moments alone with Danse were perhaps more precious to him- more exciting if he was honest- because of the need to stay quiet. It felt like something just for them. Just for _him_. One aspect of his life that he didn’t need to devote to the good of The Commonwealth. They made love slowly, still getting used to one another’s bodies, to this new aspect of their relationship. Danse had never lost the drill-sergeant's cadence when he talked to Nate in public, but when they were together he was happy to let Nate take control. Another thing he liked- storing up everyone of the commands that Danse couldn't help but issue for later, and repaying him here in the bed that they shared. it was a tentative dynamic- the two of them were still too bruised by the various slings and arrows of the Commonwealth for it to be anything more yet, but Nate thought than in time- if they had time- it was going to be a lot of fun.

_ You’re going to have to be patient with me _ , Danse had said back at the beginning. But didn’t it make things easier that both of them were unsure? Danse had his memories of Cutler- memories that were doubly tainted by the fact that they might not have been real. Nate had...well, the fiasco that had almost cost him his Military career. Nora had saved him from that. It had been a mutual convenience that had lasted as long as it did through respect and a sort of love that was perhaps stronger than romantic love would have been and through the miracle of Shaun. Would she be happy to see him together with Danse in the room they’d never shared but for that one time? He thought that she would, but perhaps this was only wishful thinking. He’d never know. If she’d lived- if they’d _ both _ survived...perhaps she’d have found a lover out in The Commonwealth. Someone like Piper- a tough chick with a smart mouth, like Nora herself. They could have created a family even odder than the one they’d made two hundred years ago.

“What are you thinking about?”

Nate felt a flush of guilt. _ My dead wife _ hardly seemed like appropriate pillow talk. Instead he rolled over to throw an arm across Danse’s chest, nuzzling into his side. Even now he found it hard to believe that Danse wasn’t fully human. The shift of the muscles under the warm skin, the sparkle of those dark eyes, the way he sighed when Nate touched him, and the things they did together in this bed certainly felt human enough. Could it all be some elaborate hoax? One last cruel joke played on him by (my son) Father? They’d never know for sure. Just as he’d never know if DiMA’s insinuations about his own humanity had any basis in reality. _ Would I know? _ Danse hadn’t known. Danse refused to even discuss the possibility that Nate wasn’t human. It was the one topic guaranteed to make him furious beyond Nate’s ability to soothe him, and so they didn’t talk about it.

“I’m thinking about problems. As usual.”

“They ask too much of you,” said Danse.

Nate laughed. “You really have changed, Danse. Back when we met you had me running all around the Commonwealth on behalf of The Brotherhood. Why would The Minutemen be any different?”

“They’re not,” said Danse. “_ I’m _ different. I care about you. You’re capable of a lot, but you’re only one man. You can’t solve everyone’s problems. Mine _ or _The Commonwealth's.” He sighed. “If there’s anything more I can do, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Nate kissed him. “Yes. But I’m OK. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Danse.

“Well, make me feel better then,” said Nate, reaching under the blanket. Danse was still hard. A month ago when this had begun he'd have flinched at so intimate a touch, but now he lay still, letting Nate play with him in the way that he liked. _We're learning each other, inside and out. It'll just take time_.

“You like that, huh?"

Danse nodded.

"Good. Me too. Distract me. That’s an order from your General. Are you thinking of disobeying a direct order, Paladin?”

Danse flushed at Nate's tone, but his breathing had quickened and Nate knew his words had hit their mark. “No, General, I guess not.”

* * *

The lunch bell woke them.

Danse sat up yawning. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Me neither,” said Nate. “Figures, I can’t sleep at night, but during the day...”

“You told me you were sleeping fine.”

_ Damn, damn, damn! _

“I am, hon, seriously. The storm last night kept me up, that’s all. Come on, if we’re late there’ll be nothing left but melon.”

There were seventy three settlers in Sanctuary Hills right now. The Settlement had expanded with a fringe of newly erected shacks and houses circling the remnants of the town Nate had known. Preston however had kept up the habit of the communal meals they’d began as a tiny pack of five, arguing (rightly in Nate’s opinion) that the growth of the Settlements was all the more reason to try to keep people connected. The only downside to this was that the meals inevitably became a chance for Sanctuary’s residents to corner their leader to discuss the hundred matters that Just Couldn’t Wait until the next town meeting.

Danse insisted that he eat breakfast in the relative safety of their home, but avoiding the lunches and dinners would only mean more people seeking him out at the house, or worse still, petitioning Danse and even Shaun to bring things up with him. 

The mess had been set up on the foundations next to Sturges’s garage. A crude timber frame with a flapping covering of salvaged fabrics covered long wooden tables, most of them filled with happily eating Settlers. In the beginning they’d sat in ones or occasionally twos, strangers thrown together, wary of each other, making the best of things. Now there were couples, families, even Sanctuary's first infant- a little girl named Helen born one month back, who was the pet of the entire town. No matter how many aggravations these people caused him it felt good to see them thriving. They’d built something here, and in the other Settlements across The Commonwealth. Whether they could hold it together remained to be seen.

Nate was relieved to see an empty bench on Nick’s table. Ghouls were accepted here, and word was that Strong had settled into Hangman’s Alley with only minimal trouble, but synths were another matter. 

For his own part, there was no one other than Danse that he trusted as much as Nick. Nick had been in Sanctuary Hills a week now, and would soon be on his way again, unless Nate could find a way to persuade him to prolong his visit. It was selfish he knew- there were still a lot of missing people out there- but Nate trusted Nick’s instincts more than he trusted his own. Preston was as staunch a companion as they came, but he lived and breathed Minutemen, and sometimes that clouded things. Nick was not exactly impartial, but he was practical in a way that the idealistic Preston wasn’t. He brought balance, and balance was something they desperately needed.

“What’s on the menu today?” Nate asked, taking a seat opposite the detective.

“Stew. Mirelurk, I think Codsworth said. Makes me glad I don’t have to eat,” he took a slug from his flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Hello Nick,” said Danse stiffly. 

“Danse. You finish your garden?”

“Almost. Another row of carrots to put in.”

Nick shook his head. “Never figured you for a farmer. But I bet you give the Mole Rats something to think twice about.”

“Everyone has to be a farmer these days,” said Danse, with the usual stiff politeness he used around Nick. Nate knew how ashamed Danse felt over the way he’d treated the Synth. 

“Nick’s a good guy. You’ve apologised, at least three times. He’s not gonna hold it against you,” Nate had told him.

“I hold it against myself,” Danse had said. “To only develop sympathy for Synths when I find out I am one? It’s reprehensible.”

And Nate hadn’t been able to persuade him otherwise. A shame, because Nick more than anyone else was equipped to guide Danse through his feelings, and Nate thought that he would have been willing to do so if Danse could only bring himself to ask. Certainly Shaun was no help. He accepted his origins with a child’s easy dismissal. Perhaps it wouldn’t always be that way- in ten years time when all the other children of Sanctuary Hills were adults and he remained the same he might begin to question, but Nate had no intention of borrowing any of _ that _ trouble before he had to.

“Master Nate! Just in time.” Nate grinned to hear Codsworth’s unfailingly cheery tones. The robot had proved about as useful as a farmer as he had been as a fighter, but his cooking was excellent and he’d thrown himself into the role of Sanctuary’s chef with gusto. He set down a pair of steaming bowls in front of Danse and Nate, and a chipped plate of the flat bread they’d made from the first season’s crop of razorgrain.

“Hello, Codsworth. What’s in the stew? Nick says it’s Mirelurk.”

“Fresh Mirelurk! Filled with vitamins. And perhaps the _ tiniest _ amount of shotgun pellets. Watch the gnashers!”

Danse poked doubtfully at his stew with his spoon. “It’s all fuel. That’s what we used to say onboard the Prydwen.”

Nate swallowed a spoonful. “It’s better than it looks. Way better. Thanks, Codsworth.”

Nick shook his head. “That’s cold comfort. Hey, what do you think, Garvey?”

Garvey turned around in his seat at the next table. “Better than Mutt Chops. How’s it going, General? Did we get that water purifier fixed yet?”

“Marcy’s on it,” said Nate before Danse could bridle. 

“Yous guys oughta put a wall around them things,” said a rasping voice to his left.

Nate looked over. One of the newer Settlers, a grizzled man with a chunk missing out of the bridge of his nose was waving his fork at him.

“Makes no sense t’ haveta go outside the walls to get water. Not safe.” 

“It’s next on the list,” said Nate, as mildly as he could manage. “And there’s three turrets there for now.”

The Settler- Fen, Nate thought he was called-snorted. “Turrets! That Caravan in Quincy had _ flamers _, an’ that Deathclaw wiped the whole lot of ‘em out.”

“If it _ was _ a Deathclaw,” said a woman to Nate’s right. “They don’t usually nest out that way.”

“I’d have said the good thing about being a Deathclaw is that you nest wherever you damn well feel like it,” said Nick dryly.

“But they say there was no blood, no bones, _ nothing _,” said the woman. April, her name was. “Just burned shadows on the road.”

“Raiders,” said Preston.

“But nothing was taken,” said April. “The packs were still there.”

“It has t’ve been a Deathclaw,” said Fen with a sniff. “Fifteen strong that Caravan was. One of ‘em was ex-Brotherhood. Was a Gunner with ‘em too. Ent no raiders or robots or anythin’ else that could’ve tekken ‘em out but a Deathclaw.”

“Flamer malfunction,” said Danse. Nate felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. “It happened all the time in the Brotherhood. They’re tricky to maintain. They were trying to fix it, and the fuel tank went up.”

“That’d explain your shadows on the road, April,” said Garvey, soothingly.

“Perhaps,” she said, but she sounded less than convinced.

“Look,” said Nate “we’ll discuss security at the meeting tomorrow. It’s top of the list, I promise.”

But he was no more convinced than the rest of the Settlers. It was the second Caravan to vanish without trace, leaving nothing but greasy black silhouettes on the road. The first one had been a band of novices and the packs had been scavenged by the time they were discovered, but this latest disaster was harder to explain away. People disappearing with barely a trace was an unwelcome familiarity, and Nate had heard the whispers around the town when folks thought he wasn’t listening.

_ The Institute. _

It wasn’t them- he was sure of it, but the seeds of fear grew discord, and if sleepy Sanctuary Hills was talking, then all of the Commonwealth would be. He’d heard nothing on the radio yet, which was likely Nick’s Doing calling in his old favor with the Diamond City DJ, but sooner or later Travis would have to say something or the silence would become more suspicious than the story itself.

_ Perhaps I’d better have a meeting about this ahead of tomorrow. Get Nick in on it, and Garvey. See if we can’t find out who the real culprit is before things get really crazy._

As it turned out, the meeting happened a lot sooner than Nate had planned for, and by that time a couple of missing Caravans was the least of their worries.


	2. Shaun

Shaun had meant to go straight to the Red Rocket, but as usual he got hung up on the riverbank.

All sorts of things collected here just upstream of the wooden bridge that lead to Sanctuary Hills. The water ran wide and shallow as it made the turn around the town, and the piles of downed branches formed great nets that trapped all sorts of interesting things tumbled down the river by the storms up-country.

Papa Nate didn’t like him being outside the gates ever, but from here Sean could still _ see _ the gates more or less, so surely that was OK? There weren’t many Bad Things around here. A few bloatflies, occasionally a mole rat. Sean had his pistol tucked into the belt of his jeans, and he was a fair shot with it. He didn’t exactly love the pistol, but he supposed it was better than nothing. It was a white one from the Institute and that bland, featureless casing reminded him of blank walls and rooms and the expressionless faces that had watched him from behind glass.

It was better out here. More interesting.

The gun he _ really _ wanted was Papa Nate’s gun. Papa Danse had given it to him when they’d first met, and it was a special sort of gun, dark green and deadly looking in a way that his silly white Institute pistol was not.

It even had a name--_ Righteous Authority _\- which was something he didn’t know guns could have. Back where he’d grown up, not even all of the people had names. Many of them had numbers instead- the ones like him at least. And sometimes, the people behind those numbers would change. Where did they go, these people? What happened to them when they vanished and some other person became Z-210 or P-637? 

_ Something bad. _

He couldn’t remember much about those days, but what he did remember made his stomach feel light and fluttery and his skin prickle- more than any stupid bloatfly or even a feral did. ferals were fast, but they didn’t _ think, _ and once you hit the legs they couldn’t do much but snap their broken teeth, like Dogmeat did when he had a flea.

Papa Danse had told Shaun that he could make up a name for his own pistol if he wanted to, but Shaun _ didn’t _ want to. He wanted a gun that already had a name.

_ When I’m big I’ll have a real gun, and power armor too. _

“They don’t make tin suits in your size, kid,” Sturges had said when he’d asked about it, so he guessed he’d have to wait.

He liked Sturges, and felt bad about disobeying him, but they needed one of those big chunky circuit boards with _ Property of the US Military _ stamped on the housing if they were ever going to get the car to go. Trashcan Carla was a week behind schedule- _ all _ the Caravans were running late. _ Good thing we grow what we eat here, _ Poppa Nate had said, but Shaun knew that he was worrying about the other Settlements. The ones that couldn’t grow what they ate- like Red Rocket. 

They had things like Circuit Boards at Red Rocket Caravans or no Caravans. Shaun would rather have lived there, even if it was crowded and you had to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor of a rickety, towering hut instead of a real bed in a real house, and they had to trade in most of their food. 

Shaun didn’t care much for food, or where he slept, but pulling machines apart and putting them back together? That was pretty cool. The Red Rocket Scavengers roamed far out past Concord, and brought home all sorts of neat stuff- stuff far more interesting than Gourds and Mutfruit.

_ I bet none of the mechanics there have to get their feet wet in this old stream digging through the mud just to find copper wire _, he told himself.

He found a bent fork, a few cans and a Nuka Cola bottle washed up in the jumble of downed tree branches caught on the slimy rocks, but nothing they could use, and of course no military-grade circuit board. He hadn’t expected to find one, but he’d had to look anyway, to see what was there. Some days you could find real treasures. 

Last month, after a big storm that had turned the sky green for days they’d found a whole Protectron washed up on the bank. Him and Sturges had gotten it going again, but the water had fried its Motherboard and rather than patrolling Sanctuary Hills looking out for lawbreakers, it stood around arguing with lampposts and generators in a garbled mix of languages, one of which Papa Nate said was called _ Spanish _.

A waste of time and resources, Marcy Long had said, and although it had made Papa Danse mad and they’d had a big fight (which had been scary but a little exciting too) Shaun kind of agreed with her.

The car was different. The car wasn’t a waste of time.

_ If I was inside a strong metal car I could go wherever I liked. They wouldn’t be able to stop me! _

“Be patient,” Sturges had told him. “You can come out with me and Marcy later and fix that water pump if you want.”

Shaun had frowned. Ordinarily he’d had been pleased to be included even with-Marcy who yelled _ all _ the time, not just when Papa Danse told her she was ‘bullying a child’- but for the past few weeks the car was all he could think about. He _ knew _ they could make it go, no matter what the others said. _ If you could get cars to run, someone would have done it by now _ . But perhaps that _ someone _ was him? Why not? 

Even Sturges didn’t think they could really do it, no matter how carefully Shaun explained, and Shaun hadn’t been able to make him _ see _ it the way he could. _ Shaun _ could see just how all the parts should fit together in his head, like a map written in bright blue lines on the darkness behind his closed eyes. It puzzled him that no one else had this knack of seeing mechanical things, but as Preston said, a square peg would always find a square hole in the Commonwealth, which meant that everyone- no matter how young they were- had something they could do to help out, and Shaun knew that _ his _ special thing was fixing stuff up- stuff that even Sturges couldn’t fix.

They’d hauled a solid chassis back to Sanctuary Hills and found four tires healthy enough to be patched and reinflated. The innards were a more complicated matter, but Shaun thought they were close. A military circuit board, two fusion cores, some good copper wiring and it might actually run- all junk that Red Rocket might have right now!

“It’s just down the road,” he’d wheedled. “Twenty minutes walk. I’ll take Dogmeat with me!”

Sturges frowned, chewed at a dirty nail. Shaun could tell that for all his doubts he wanted to see if the car would go almost as much as Shaun did himself.

“Tell you what, if no Caravans show up by next week, we’ll go together.”

Shaun slumped. “Next week? That’s forever!”

Sturges had laughed. “Only seems that way because you’re a kid.”

“Papa Nate would let me go.”

Sturges had shrugged. “Well that’s between you and Papa Nate. You ask him and he says yes, then I can’t stop you. But we both know that’s not happening.”

“Papa Danse...”

_ Would say no twice as fast, and think up a chore for him to boot. _

And so in the end he hadn’t asked at all. Sanctuary Hills was ringed with fences made from old boards and barbed wire and great heavy stacks of tires filled with concrete that not even a Gunner could blast through first try, but when you were a kid, especially a little kid- too little for a real gun with a name, or a suit of power armor- you knew where the holes were.

There was one around the back of The Rep’s house. Shaun liked The Rep. He was a Ghoul, but one of the nice ones, not a feral, and he ran the clothing trader next to Sturges’s Garage. He’d given Nate his super special cowboy hat- ‘_ All the way from the Mojave wasteland, kid! _ ’ and he told funny, made-up stories about A Long Time Ago when there’d been people _ everywhere _ , not just in settlements but living out in the world, and there were no Ghouls or Super Mutants or Deathclaws, and everything was _ green _.

Papa Nate didn’t like The Rep to tell these stories. Shaun didn’t understand why. He wasn’t an idiot- he didn’t think they were actually true. It was just like the stories about Grognak the Barbarian in the comic books. They weren’t really _ real _.

The fence in the Rep’s yard had a loose board at the bottom, and if you were a kid, and didn’t mind getting belly-down in the dry brittle grass and risking a tear in the back of your shirt, you could wriggle through. Sturges would know what he’d done when he came back with the circuit board, but perhaps the excitement of getting the car going would make it OK? Shaun's Papas might not even have to find out. 

“I can look after myself anyway,” he told Dogmeat who was rolling in something nasty-looking at the stream’s edge. Even armed with the dumb Institute pistol he wasn’t scared to be out here in the Commonwealth. He was a Minuteman! And Minutemen weren’t frightened of anything. Not bloatflies, or ferals, or....

_ He’s malfunctioning again. Let’s try a soft reboot. Hold him still, please. _

Shaun shook his head, trying to clear it. A bad dream, that’s all it was.

Dogmeat whined.

“I’m coming, boy.” He glanced at the sky where the sun struggled weakly to penetrate the flat grey smog.

_ Everything is grey _ . _ It _ can’t _ hurt- they can’t feel true pain, especially with the neural pathways disconnected. Interesting though- make a note of it, Doctor. _

Deliberately, Shaun stepped into the brackish water, gasping at the cold of it welling up through the holes in his shoe, seeping into his sock. Clouds of reddish mud billowed out around his foot. The water altered its course around the sides of his sneaker, and his own reflection gazed back at him rippling and shattering apart over and over again.

_ I’m real. The world is real. I can feel cold. I’m here. _

Dogmeat whined again and pushed his long snout into Shaun’s hand. His fur felt warm and good and alive, and Shaun’s panic retreated a little. _ Big Baby. Getting all scared by some bad dreams. _

Dogmeat barked.”You’re right, boy. We need to get back before the lunch bell rings.”

He could see the big red sign on top of the Rocket as he scrambled up the far bank.

_ They all worry too much! Like I’m a green Diamond City kid who’s never been outside the ‘Jewel. I’ve got my gun and I’ve got Dogmeat, and... _

Dogmeat’s fur was standing up in a stiff ridge on his shoulders. The growl began deep in his throat, a scary, unfamiliar sound. He barked- not his usual playful bark when he was pretending to kill his raggedy teddy bear, but a deep, angry bark that Shaun had never heard before.

“What is it?” His voice caught in his chest, and his fingers closed around the grip of his pistol. Suddenly he was glad of it_ . _ It was not a good gun, but it was a _ real _ gun, and he was a Minuteman and...

Something was moving in the mud. Something _ big _.

_ A feral- it’s just a feral. _

The limbs flapped, slapping at the mud. The feral’s legs kicked fruitlessly as it tried to heave itself out of the mire.

Shaun raised his gun, then lowered it. If he took a shot at the thing, the lookouts at Sanctuary were sure to hear and come running. The feral didn’t look like it was going anywhere fast.

He glanced doubtfully back towards Sanctuary. _ Just leave it there. It’s stuck in the mud. No danger to anyone. _

But that wasn’t true. It was stuck in the mud _ now _, but later on it might struggle free. A single feral was no danger to anyone in Sanctuary, or to the Caravans who were well armed and armored, but it wasn’t just Caravanners who traveled these roads. Settlers who’d picked up the recruitment beacon passed by here too- exhausted and sickly, carrying what they’d scrounged in tattered bundles. Some of them were families with little kids- babies even. A feral leaping out of the dark could take down a little kid no problem.

Shaun heard Danse’s voice in his mind. _ Neutralize the threat. Be sure of it. Chance is a risk we can’t afford to take. _

His hand went to his pocket where his switchblade snugged against his hip.

Could he really do it? He’d killed ferals before, but it was different with a gun- less personal, somehow.

_ A Ghoul isn’t a person- not a feral one _. And yet it had been once. Someone nice, maybe, like The Rep. Someone who’d had a family, and a home and things they liked and things they were afraid of. What would it be like to feel yourself slip away like that? The person that you were being shaken loose from the body you inhabited until you were just a shell?

_ It _ can’t _ hurt- they can’t feel true pain. _

Shaun shuddered. Suddenly he wished that he’d never come out here. That he’d listened to Sturges and gone to help Danse with the garden he was planting behind the house. Dogmeat still growled low in his throat, his eyes flicking back and forth between Shaun and the feral, waiting for some indication of what he was supposed to do.

“It’s OK, boy, we’ve got it,” Shaun whispered- more to reassure himself than the dog. It wasn’t a person, not really._ It doesn’t have a mind. It’s _ ....he thought of Danse again. _ An abomination. It will be a mercy. _

The thing flopped and slithered in the mud. It made him sick to look at it. Soon he’d smell the stink of it- urine and rot and shit- a high, sweet smell that made you nose burn and your hair stand on end. _ The back of the neck. That way you don’t have to look into those collapsed eyeballs, hear the throaty gurgles that were once words. _

Shaun edged closer. Sweat prickled beneath him arms and he tried to still the shaking of his hands. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. One stab to the back of the neck was all it would take, and then he’d be out of here. Back to Sanctuary. He’d help Danse dig the rows for the carrots, and he’d eat lunch next to his Papa, proud to be the son of the Minutemen’s General and he’d go to Red Rocket _ next _ week with Sturges, and if any ferals showed up- well that would be Sturges’s problem.

He glanced back at Dogmeat who was quivering with the effort of holding himself back. It was tempting to order him to spring forward, to grab the feral by a muddy leg- but it didn’t appear to have noticed him yet, and dispatching it with the switchblade would be far harder if it was thrashing around.

He edged his way over the slimy stones, avoiding the sucking stretches of oily mud. Far off he could hear the jaunty music of Diamond City radio. _ Back there where it’s safe, behind the walls. Where I should be. _

He shook his head, palmed sweat off his brow. _ Stop being such a baby! The Settlement’s right behind you! If the worst happens you can just shoot the dumb old thing and be done with it. _

True. But then Papa Nate would know that he’d been sneaking out without permission. It wasn’t a scolding that he feared, it was Nate’s disappointment. He’d think Shaun couldn’t be trusted. Couldn’t follow one simple order.

_ Perhaps he won’t even want me anymore. _

This was a thought far scarier than the feral that floundered weakly in front of him, and he shoved it away violently.

_ Now or never. Ad Victorium! _

He hopped to the next rock, windmilling his arms to keep his balance as his sneakers slid on the sludgy top of it. _ Way to go dummy- drop the knife in the water, why don’t you? _ but he was nimble and didn’t fall.

The feral’s face was half buried in the muck, which helped. A stream of oily bubbles issued from the half-submerged mouth, and the face was a featureless mask of caked mud. The thing really was in a bad way. It must have been injured already he decided, and wandered into the river where it had been swept down here to catch in the branches with the other junk.

He squatted down, licking his lips, tightening his grip on the knife handle. Leaning forward to support himself on his free hand, he brought his arm back, ready to strike.

_ Back of the neck- hard and fast. _

He tightened his fingers on the blade, and let out a long shuddery breath.

_ Now! _

The feral’s face shot upwards to stare into his own, the lips peeled back from a gaping mouth, the inside of it shockingly pink and clean in the mask of mud.

“_Help me_,” it rasped.


	3. Sure, I’m Crazy

_ “If you keep hoarding that garbage you’re going to slow us down.” _

_ Nate ignores him, yanking open the sticky desk drawer in the crumbling Police Station. _

_ Danse sighs. “What is that? What are you going to do with it, even?” _

_ Nate turns to face him, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his finger. _

_ “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” _

Had that been the start of it? As early as that? The first time his thoughts about the strange, hard-eyed man who’d burst into Cambridge Police Station and pulled all of their asses out of the fire had strayed in an unforeseen direction. The day after the Prydwen’s return to the Commonwealth it had been. He’d summoned Nate back to the Police Station expecting to be the cool, collected one, taking a paternal pleasure in Nate’s wide-eyed marvel at the vast airship, but Nate had boarded the Vertibird like he’d ridden one a thousand times (and as Dase found out later he had) and it was Danse himself whose world had shifted on the foundations he’d assumed were so strong. He’d _ built _ them strong, determined that nothing like the mess with Cutler would ever harm him or his career again.

Nate’s insinuating words and the amused, assessing look in the grey eyes had caused Danse to fumble for his words, to _ blush _ for God’s sake, Nate blowing straight through his defenses like a mini-nuke through a Settler’s shanty, and he barely glanced at the Prydwen as they came in to land, his mind fixed instead of those dangling handcuffs and the implication behind them.

Sexual relationships were forbidden in the Brotherhood, but no Paladin, no matter how righteous could control his thoughts in the hot, dark hours of the night. Was there something in him that Nate had recognised? Something that gave him away?

_ To find someone as strong as himself- or stronger. A steelier will, a more powerful body that could force him to give up the control he held onto so tightly during the sane, waking hours. _

It was unsettling to him that others might see this weakness in him. Worse still was the thrill of excitement the thought of Nate exploiting that weakness gave him.

Danse was used to being the one who unsettled others- not using Nate’s methods- never the upstanding Paladin Danse!- but because his squads respected him and the unassailable convictions he demanded, knowing that he’d accept nothing less than the very best from them.

He’d treated Nate the same at first, waiting for the slim chance that he’d fall into line, or the much larger one that he’d wash out and drift away.

_ Give him a chance, Scribe Haylen had said. _

_ Kill him now before he gets you killed, Knight Rhys had muttered. _

And then he’d seen Nate fight. He’d told Danse he was a military man, but people told you a lot of things they thought you wanted to hear- especially when you were wearing a suit of power armor and Brotherhood insignia.

Mutants and Ghouls were vermin, but the people who grovelled in the waste for their living were often not much better. Liars, thieves, rapists and murderers. Why should this man be any different? Perhaps he’d followed the distress signal in the hopes of looting their corpses. Perhaps he was a chem-head who talked a big game but would turn tail at the first sniff of blood and cordite. Danse hadn’t hoped for much.

He’d been wrong. Danse told himself that his scrupulous honesty meant that he could admit his own errors as easily as those of others. But he couldn’t admit what the first hot rush of desire signified- not then. That part of himself had been numbed long ago, or so he’d thought. Strange that the period of his life during which he’d believed he was human coincided with the period he’d coached himself into behaving like a machine. 

Nate changed that, Nate wasn’t just different from the Commonwealth drifters, he was different from anyone Danse had ever met.

The handcuffs in the police station and the teasing flirtation; that had been when the physical attraction had started, as hot and heady as a hit of the battle chems he forbid himself. _Does he mean...? What else _could_ he mean...? Did he guess_ _how I truly am?_ But what about _love_? Love was something that kindled more slowly. Something that smouldered without you knowing it and by the time you realized you were caught up in the conflagration it was too late.

Certainly he’d never imagined that the wild-eyed man with the highly contraband suit of power armor and the battered, cobbled together 10mm would save him. Not just from the ferals who swarmed the Police Station But from _ everything _.

The first big shock of the day they’d raided ArcJet Systems had been the presence of the Synths. The second had been Nate. He’d fought like no one Danse had seen before. He’d listened to the orders Danse had given him not with the cringing, fearful look the others did—already anticipating falling short— but with a kind of quiet amusement- and then he’d ignored them, and Danse had found _ himself _following Nate’s lead, and not caring.

_ Enjoying it. _

Not being in charge for once. Not being the one the frightened eyes turned to when the bullets began to fly. How long was it since he’d felt that way in battle? Not the grim duty of the Brotherhood Paladin overseeing his squad, dully ticking off the mission objectives as he slogged through them, but the heart-pounding thrill of fighting for his life back to back with an equal? Not since Cutler.

He was never certain why he’d given Nate _ Righteous Authority _ after the battle. Maybe because he felt he had to do _ something _. Mark the moment in some way. And Nate had accepted it, and looked at him assessingly, almost as if he’d known what it meant to Danse.

Probably that was it. The spark that would grow to set his world on fire.

_ Are you saying you’re in love with me? This doesn’t make any sense _, he’d told Nate after the miserable scene with Maxon outside Listening Post Bravo. He’d been almost angry with Nate when he’d talked him out of his duty. He’d been fully prepared to put a bullet in his brain- or submit to Maxon doing it. It had been no bluff. In so many ways it would have been easier. All that he had, everything he’d believed in had been swept away in that one little line of Data.

A synth

The enemy.

_ How can you be in love with a machine? _

But Nate loved him anyway- more than that, he’d kicked apart the crumbling semblance of the new life he’d begun to build for himself to do so, turning his back on the Brotherhood, walking willingly into exile alongside Danse. It was no mystery to Danse why Nate had joined up with the Brotherhood so readily. The Commonwealth was alien to him in every way— worse than alien- it was a warped, savage parody of the world he belonged to, with grisly reminders of what he‘d lost everywhere he turned. Climbing into a suit of power armor, being pointed at an enemy and ordered to wipe them out? That had been familiar to Nate. A chem to soothe the chaos he’d found himself reborn into, and he’d kicked it for Danse.

Danse still couldn’t comprehend the sacrifice Nate had made for him. It was shameful to him that he’d allowed it. There were plenty of things for Danse to be ashamed of, and if his punishment was to spend the rest of his days atoning so be it. God knew he deserved it and worse.

Sanctuary was his second chance, although he might never get over his despair at the Minutemen’s lack of discipline. His attempts to apply his experience in the Brotherhood to the running of the Settlement had been utterly thankless, despite the obvious increase in productivity that rigid discipline could provide. 

“You have to relax, man,” Preston had told him. “These people aren’t soldiers. The work has to be there to support the life, not the other way round.”

It was the kind of sloppiness that got men killed in Danse’s opinion, but Nate had taken Preston’s side.

“You’re not wrong, Danse, but just because you get off on following my orders,” he’d given Danse’s ass a sly pinch, “doesn’t mean these guys do. They have to feel they’re working together as a community. That they have a stake in it. Not just have some General ordering them around, or treating them like a Raider Gang in thrall to the biggest asshole on the block. It’s the only way things are gonna change long-term.” 

Danse couldn’t see why Nate needed things to change long-term, but if it was important to Nate it was important to Danse. Lately though Nate’s zeal for brining in waifs and strays had overtaken even Preston Garvey's.

_ You can’t save everyone _ , is what he’d have said if he’d dared to do so. _ And if you keep on like this you’ll kill yourself trying _. But where did that line of thinking lead? He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Nate’s compulsion to rescue the damaged souls of the Commonwealth. None of them would be. How could he tell Nate he was wrong? Leading The Minutemen was Nate’s mission now that he’d discovered Shaun’s fate, and Danse suspected that without a mission necessitating his constant strength, Nate might well fall apart.

_ Maybe it would be good if he did. Maybe he needs it? _ Or maybe it was Danse being selfish- wanting Nate to give less of himself to the others?

_ This is exactly why romantic entanglements are forbidden in the Brotherhood _. It clouded reason. Hampered your judgment and made you question your motives.

Danse glanced over at his partner. At least Nate was eating today, even if he hadn’t slept properly. He knew that Nate was fretting over the Caravans. The group from Starlight Drivein had arrived on time, but many others were unaccounted for. Raiders, was what Danse thought. The bigger the Settlements got, the more tempting they were as a target. With luck the balance would tip- the Minutemen would become too strong to be worth the risk, but right now they were in the danger zone. Every scumbag in the Commonwealth knew that the towering junk walls surrounded a veritable paradise of food and weaponry. If the Raiders were smart they’d band together. 

_ Good thing they’re not smart. _

And yet it would only take one man or woman with the charisma and ferocity to unite the squabbling packs against the Settlements, and everything could be lost. That they had the audacity to attack well-armed Caravans worried Danse.

It was odd the way the supply packs had been untouched during the latest attack, but the absence of looting didn’t rule out Raiders. That one smart Overboss of his nightmares could be using the mystery to draw them out beyond the junk walls. If the Settlement’s strongest fighters were out braving the wastelands in search of answers, the Settlements themselves would be ripe for the picking.

He sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“Stop worrying,” said Nate, patting his shoulder. This comradely touch was the most he’d allow himself in public. Danse tried not to mind it. _ It’s because of how things were in his own time,not because of what I am, _ but it was difficult. 

“I was going to say the same to you.”

“Me?” Nate raised an eyebrow. “I’m not worried.” He poked at his stew. “If it’s my fate to get taken out by a Mirelurk I’d rather it was from me eating him than the other way round.”

Danse frowned at him. He knew why Nate was side-stepping the issue. Everywhere Nate went people watched him. He could talk all he liked about creating a community of equals, but when people were frightened they looked to their General for how to react. To the people of Sanctuary Hills Nate’s fearlessness and devil-may-care attitude was a defense against the perils of the world beyond as surely as the junk walls and turrets. 

_ If Nate says it’s OK, then it will be. _

He knew the feeling all too well, and knew the heaviness of the burden. Even in the house they couldn’t really talk. Shuan was beginning to mean a hell of a lot to Danse, but he had a knack for overhearing things that he shouldn’t, and when he was out of the house they tended to end up in bed instead of talking.

_ Weakness. _

And yet if Nate needed that from him, how could he refuse? Not that he wanted to refuse, anyway. His attraction to Nate burned as fiercely as it ever had. Perhaps he could grab the chance to talk with Nate while they planted this afternoon? The worst culprits for gossip had a tendency to vanish when farmwork was needed, and the yard behind their house was private enough. Shaun would pitch in cheerfully with planting gourds and carrots if asked, but he’d left the house at dawn to sit outside the garage waiting for Sturges to stirr, and Danse saw no reason why he wouldn’t spend the rest of the day fooling with the old Corvega he was so convinced might be coaxed back into life.

Danse looked around for Shaun’s neat cap of blond hair among the Settlers and felt a twinge of disquiet when he failed to find it. Dogmeat, who could be relied on to spend lunchtime cruising for scraps was nowhere to be seen either, and Danse’s concern lurched up a gear. The two of them were almost never apart.

Sturges was sitting on one of the battered picnic tables swigging a Nuka Cola and having an animated discussion with Preston, but Shuan wasn’t with him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Nate who’d been sucked into a conversation about the dwindling medical supplies with Mama Murphy. 

“We need to get people out there,” the old woman warbled. “I need _ fresh _ Bloodleaf, stuff we have’s not fit for anything but burning. It’s no use to me all withered up like a feral’s prick, kid.”

It wouldn’t do to add to Nate’s worries unnecessarily- especially on the subject of Shaun.

Danse tried not to mind the wariness in the expressions of the two men as he approached. _ It’s not you they don’t trust, it’s the Brotherhood _, Nate had told him. Which was only fair, he supposed. If he’d left the Brotherhood of his own volition it might have been different, but they’d thrown him out and even though Maxson’s lack of mercy- not to mention loyalty- had wounded him, he could hardly object to it. He’d been the same way himself- had prided himself on it. There’d always be a part of his heart that lay with the Brotherhood and these people knew it and distrusted him; Especially those who were fond of Nate and wondered at their relationship and the power it might give him over their leader. That at least he could laugh about. If only they knew what the two men got up to after lights-out perhaps they’d relax a little. 

“Strurges. Have you seen Shaun?”

Sturges looked to Preston, as if for help, and Danse cursed himself. Even now he couldn’t keep the drill sergeant’s tone out of his voice. Every question, no matter how innocuous sounded like an inquisition. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I hope he wasn’t bothering you earlier. All he talks about right now is that Corvega.”

Sturges smiled. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was better than outright panic.

“Kid’s a genius. I’m starting to think we might actually get it running. If we can find the rest of the junk we need.” Sturges frowned. “He come ask you about it? The circuit board?”

“No,” said Danse. “What circuit board?”

“Shit,” muttered Sturges. “You seen the kid anywhere the last hour Preston?”

The Minuteman shook his head. “Nope. Why?”

Struges heaved himself off the table, craning around. “Damn. He was wanting to take a trip to Red Rocket, to see if they had a Military circuit board. Told him to wait for the Caravan, but...”

“But what?” asked Danse.

Sturges took a step back. “But he seemed pretty keen to get hold of it sooner.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t leave the Settlement without permission,” said Preston, soothingly.

Danse thought of the small figure creeping out of the house at dawn to tinker with the car and wondered. 

“Could you two help me look for him?” he asked, softly, with a glance at Nate. Preston followed his eyes and nodded. 

“Sure. He’s probably just playing somewhere. We’ll find him before anyone misses him.”

Danse felt a rush of gratitude, tinged with the usual guilt. _ If you’d never found out what you are the only way you’d have entered this place would be in a Vertibird to scav their tech and kill anyone- like Garvey- who dared stand in your way. And you have the gall to worry about Raider Gangs. _

But there was no time for self-pity. Shaun likely was playing somewhere, but on the off-chance he wasn’t...

“I’ll search the house,” he said. “If you two wouldn’t mind spreading out to check the town.”

“Sure thing,” said Garvey. “But he’s not likely to have...”

The siren split the air with a rusty wail that made his hand fly to his laser rifle, his training taking over at once. Nate too was on his feet in a second.

“N.C.’s in the bunker!” he shouted above the din of raised voices. The survival cellar underneath one of the collapsed houses had been expanded to accommodate Sanctuary’s growing population of non-combatants- those too maimed or addled by their trials in the wastelands to be anything but a liability in combat. Danse tried to see them the way Nate and Garvey did- valuable members of the group whose contributions were merely different from those with strong backs and steady nerves, but there was still that small voice inside of him that distrusted weakness of any kind, and as he watched Codsworth shepherding them down the road towards their hiding hole he couldn’t help but tot up the resources they represented. Food, clothing, water and most of all chems- more than their share. It was fine now when they had plenty, but if the Caravans failed... Such thinking would infuriate Nate. _ Inhuman _ he’d call it. Perhaps he was right.

Right now he had other things to worry about. Raiders? Mutants? A pack of slavering mutts? And where the hell was Shaun? God please let him be inside the walls. He felt better when he hauled himself into his power armor. It calmed him right away to have the insulating carapace of steel between himself and these people, and he was pleased to see Nate suiting up too. Armor wouldn’t make a capable soldier out of a weakling, but in Nate’s possession the armor was formidable-more than a match for whatever waited outside the walls.

The streets were a chaos of guards unholstering pipe pistols as they ran to the barricades that ringed Sanctuary’s outer perimeter. Danse listened for the first rattle of the turrets, to gauge which direction the attack was coming from, but they remained silent.

“Danse, stick with me,” said Nate. “Patrol last night said they saw Super Mutant tracks to the south. They don’t usually come this far North, but if there’s a suicider, it’s you and me. We can’t risk a breach of the walls.”

“Roger that,” said Danse. The thought of charging out of the safety of the fortifications to bring down a suicider didn’t scare Danse. The thought of Shaun’s small body being torn apart by huge green hands did.

“General?”

A skinny figure in shabby road leathers was running up Main Street towards them. Gardener, a capable fighter, cool-headed and an excellent marksman. He’d have been scouting her as Brotherhood material if such things were still a concern to him.

“What is it Gardener,” asked Nate. “Mutants?”

“No,” she panted. “Shit Nate, it’s Shaun.”

Danse’s heart plummeted.

“What do you mean Shaun?” 

Gardener took a step back at Nate’s tone. “Relax, General, he’s fine, but he’s brought someone to the South gates. And they’re _ not _ fine. You’d better get down there.”

Nate shoved past her, roughly and Danse grabbed her before she could fall.

“Send Garvey to the Eastern gates,” Danse said to Gardener. Garvey might be soft-headed on the subject of Settlers, but he was at least competent enough to spot and repel any potential flanking attack. “And let everyone else know what’s happening. Have them hold their positions, just in case it’s a diversion of some kind.”

“Gardener nodded. “You got it, Danse.” she looked doubtfully after the retreating Nate. “I didn’t mean to scare him. I guess it came out wrong.”

“Not your fault, soldier.”

She smiled. “I’m not a soldier. But thanks. You’d better get down there. He needs you.”

Whether she meant Shuan or Nate, Danse wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to argue. The sounds of Dogmeat’s barking echoed between the buildings, as the dog ran forward to bounce around his legs.

He bore no obvious injuries, which was a good sign. The dog was a strange creature, but would have gone down fighting rather than let any harm come to Shaun. 

Nate stood at the center of a knot of Settlers gathered around something just inside the open gates. _ No one thought to close them again? _

“Logan! Get those gates shut,” ordered Danse. The man’s face snapped towards him as though he was awakening from a trance, but he moved to obey. _ Anyone in my squad who stood there gawking instead of securing the perimeter would spend a week in the stockade_. The Commonwealth was supposed to harden people, and yet they were still too soft, the weak dragging down the strong.

Danse pushed his way through the crowd- not a difficult thing to do.

Shaun stood protectively over a filthy black figure that was sprawled on the cracked pavement, facing Nate, who towered over him in his armor. The boy’s hair stood up in muddy tufts and his clothes were slimed with clots of oily dirt.

“What in the _ hell _, Shaun? Were you out there on your own?”

Danse heard the tremor in Nate’s voice and felt afraid for the first time since the siren had sounded. There was a note of hysteria in it that he’d seldom heard before.

“I’m sorry, Poppa, but I found this person. They need help.”

“We don’t even know who this is!”

Danse frowned. Nate was usually the first to welcome some new and helpless stray into the Settlement, and the fact that he sounded like he was on the verge of curing this wanderer’s afflictions with a bullet to the brain did nothing for Danse’s nerves.

“It’s a Settler,” said Shaun, stubbornly. “They must have got lost on the road and...”

“Must have? Meaning you don’t _ know. _ Why were you outside the Goddam gates?”

Shaun's face was very pale beneath the mud. “I....I wanted to get a circuit board. To finish the car. I know it was wrong, but...”

“But what? Goddammit, Shaun you could have been killed out there. For a car. A fucking _ car _.”

“Nate, relax, Pal” said Nick who’d struggled his way through the growing crowd to stand next to Danse.

“Relax? You of all people know all the shit I went through to get him back, and you’re telling me to relax?”

“Nick, could you take Shaun to our place and get him cleaned up?” said Danse quickly. “Nate and I will deal with our guest here. Tell Mama Murphy to clear some space in the medbay.”

Nick nodded. “Come on sport. Let’s get you cleaned up before someone plants carrots in you.”

“And grab any Ghouls you find on the way and get them to fill a tub outside the clinic,” Danse called after him. “We’re going to need to wash off this mud and it’s giving off rads like crazy.”

At this the circle around the downed Settler widened. 

Nate made to follow Shaun, but Danse grabbed his arm. “Focus, General. He’s alive.”

“He...I could have lost him.”

“But you didn’t. We need to help whoever this is.”

Nate’s helmet swivelled towards the figure on the ground as if seeing it for the first time.

“He was out there in the goddamn river. Alone.”

“And now he’s back and if we’re going to save this one you need to help me carry them to the clinic.”

Nate said nothing, and Danse was almost glad he couldn’t see the expression on the man’s face. _ If he’s angry with me, let him be angry, as long as he doesn’t lose control in front of these people. _

Danse stooped to slide an arm round the figure on the ground. Beneath the coating of mud the body was almost skeletal, and if it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the ribs Danse would have taken them for a feral. In truth he could have carried the emaciated body easily even without power armor, but he needed to keep Nate focused on this, instead of on Shaun. There’d be time enough to give the boy the speech on why it was so important to stay inside the walls, but Nate was in no state to deliver it just now. Danse noticed several of the Settlement Guards were already shooting Nate confused glances as he stooped to slide his arm beneath the bedraggled Settler’s.

Danse felt a flair of anger. _ Your incompetence is forgivable, but he shows he’s human for ten seconds and you’re doubting him? _

Together they carried the mud-daubed figure down Main Street. Guards turned in their posts to watch them and Danse felt another wave of irritation. _ If anyone does plan to use a distraction to assault this place they’ll make quick work of us. _

Three Ghouls, The Rep and the odd married couple who’d papered their shack with Fancy Lad boxes waited by a brahmin feed trough that had been filled with water. _ Clean, pumped water that will be wasted on this weakling who is probably going to die anyway. _

“Careful now, don’t drown the poor thing,” rasped the Ghoul woman as Nate and Danse maneuvered the skinny body into the water.

The cold of it might be a shock too far for the raddled system, but there was nothing else to be done.

“As soon as he’s clean, get some Rad-ex into him,” said Danse, to Mama Murphy, who was peering anxiously through the glassless window of the clinic.

“Sure thing kid, but...”

“We’re getting low.” Finished Danse. “Don’t worry. I’ll take a squad to the Vault tomorrow. They can spare some.”

Mama Murphy looked doubtful but wisely chose not to argue.

“I guess that’s about as much as we can do,” said Danse, but Nate was already turning away from him, stalking back down the road where they’d come from.

“Nate?”

Nate said nothing, and Danse was forced to follow in his wake. He expected Nate to head to their home- it would be best if he cooled off before confronting the boy, but at least the conversation would be somewhat private. But to Danse’s surprise, Nate headed instead towards Sturges’s garage opposite.

It wasn’t until he stooped to pick up the sledgehammer that was leaning against the workbench that Danse realised what he meant to do.

“Nate, stop.”

The weapon looked almost like a toy in his armored hands, but when Nate raised it and bought it down with a thundering crash on the roof of the Corvega there were several startled shouts from the Settlers nearby.

“Come on Nate, stop this.” He grabbed for Nate’s shoulder but was shoved away, hard enough that he would have fallen if not for the servos in his suit.

Nate walked to the side of the Corvega and slammed the hammer into one of the tires which immediately began to hiss air.

“Dad! No!”

Danse whirled around to see Shaun running across the road. His hair was dripping wet, and his face pale and shocked. Nick was just behind him and Danse caught sight of Preston and Sturges hurrying down the street towards the garage. Nick grabbed at Shaun and held him back. Garvey’s eyes were wide with shock.

“What in the hell’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Danse. “Take him inside, can’t you, Valentine?”

Sturges was walking towards Nate, his hands held out. “Come on, buddy, I know you’re mad with him, but this isn’t...”

“You stay the hell out of this,” roared Nate.

Danse heard a fresh chorus of alarmed mutters rise from the crowd that had been drawn by the noise.

This was bad. And could be unfixabley so if he didn’t do something.

Shaun was struggling in Nick’s arms. His face was streaked with tears. “Please dad, don’t! Don’t break the car! I’m sorry!”

Danse winced as the hammer came down again with a crash of shattering glass as the Corvega’s miraculously intact rear windshield burst into glittering shards. Sturges had wisely retreated to a safe distance. He gaped at Nate, his mouth hanging wide as if he’d never seen him before.

They’d certainly never seen him like this. Even Danse had only once seen him this angry._ After he came back from the Institute. When he lost Shaun for the second time. _It made a sick sort of sense if you knew what he’d suffered, but most of these people didn’t know and wouldn’t care. They wanted a General, not a man as wounded and broken by the Commonwealth as they were themselves.

“Dad, don’t.” Shaun was sobbing now, slumped in Nick’s arms.

“Nick, take him the hell away from here,” said Danse. 

“Talk some sense into him, man,” urged Preston in a low voice. “He can’t act crazy like this in front of the whole Settlement.”

“I know that,” snapped Danse.

“Come on people, nothing to see!” Preston hollered, as Nick pulled the sobbing Shaun away.

The expressions on the faces of the loitering Settlers indicated that there very much _ was _ something to see, and it took all of Danse’s willpower not to march into the crowd and start cracking skulls.

Instead he moved towards Nate again, who had circled around to the hood of the car where the refurbished engine was housed. 

“Nate, please, you have to stop this. This isn’t helping anything.”

The helmet swivelled towards him. “If he’s risking his life on behalf of this shit, I’d say taking it out of the picture is helpful as hell.”

“He loves it, Nate. He loves it and he’s a kid. Just a kid. Talk to him.”

“He’s _ my _ kid, Danse. So back the hell off.”

It hurt. He couldn’t deny that it hurt, but he had a lifetime’s worth of experience ignoring his own emotions.

“Nate, step down.”

Nate snorted. “You’re not my commander, Danse.”

“No, I’m not. I’m...”

“So get out of my way.”

Nate hefted the hammer again. He could make a grab for it. He was almost as fast as Nate, and if he missed he could take the blow on the arm of his power armor without damaging anything vital. And then what? The two of them could roll around in the gutter, fighting over it? A fine picture of authority that would make. 

Danse made a decision. It might be the wrong one. Hell, the state of mind Nate was in it might be a fatal one, but it was all he could think of.

His power armor released with a hiss and he hopped nimbly out of it, darting around to slide across the hood of the car, putting himself between the raised hammer and the engine block.

“Get out of my way, Danse.”

“No. Don’t do this.”

“He could have died out there!”  
And you could kill the part of him that’s human by doing this to him.”

The hammer dropped slightly, then came back up. Danse was aware that the front of his shirt was sodden with sweat and his heart was tripping.

“If this keeps him safe...”

“But it won’t keep him safe. It’ll just kill his love for you. His trust in you. Please.” He lowered his voice. “Please Nate, don’t do this. I...I’m begging you. _ Please _.”

Nate stood still as a statue for one long, agonising second that seemed to drag on and on. Then dropped the hammer.

Danse let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

“Climb out of the armor, Nate. You’ve had a shock. Let’s get you inside.”

_ Before every single person in Sanctuary Hills has seen you losing it _. It was bad enough that they’d hear the gossip. He didn’t expect Nate to listen to him, but he did, almost falling out of the Armor. Garvey ran forward to help Danse catch him, and together they half-lead, half-carried him into their home, laying him on the patched sofa. Nate was shaking hard and his eyes had a glazed, stunned look that Danse didn’t care for at all.

“Perhaps a shot of Calmex?” said Preston hesitantly.

It was a measure of Danses’ concern that he actually considered it for a second. 

“A slug of vodka will do it,” he said finally. “There’s a bottle in the cabinet I think.”

He knelt down by the sofa taking Nate’s hand, trying to still the tremor in it.

“You with me, soldier?”

Nate blinked slowly. “Fuck Danse, what did I do?”

“Nothing,” soothed Danse. “Just rest a while. You’ve been running on empty for days. The perimeter’s secure, and everyone’s inside and accounted for. Just...rest. Please.”

Nate’s eyes drifted towards him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Rest.” He bent forward and kissed Nate’s knuckles.

“I almost swung the damned thing. I...it was like I didn’t even see you. I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I...”

“Hush. That’s an order.”

Nate didn’t want the shot that Preston poured him, but Danse insisted he drink it.

“I don’t fucking deserve it. He’s ever going to forgive me. He’s never going to understand.”

“He’s a kid,” said Preston softly. “He’ll forget. And he’ll fix it up again. You owe him an apology sure, but you were scared he was hurt. We all get it.”

Danse looked at him gratefully.

“It’s no excuse,” said Nate. “Fuck. How am I going to face him? Or any of them?”

“Like a General,” said Preston, firmly.

Danse’s feeling of gratitude faded. 

“Look, get some sleep, Nate. Don’t tell me you don’t need it. I’ll go check on Shaun later. Explain things to him.”

“But...” 

“Please. Don’t make me beg you twice in one day.”

Normally Nate would have had some flirtatious reply to such an earnest and obvious set-up line, but he said nothing. He did however allow Danse to lead him into their room and help him out of his sweat-sodden clothes.

Neither of them were remotely in the mood for passion, but Nate allowed Danse to hold him, and after a while the tremors gave way to a thin and fitful sleep.

* * *

Danse didn’t frequent _ Boston Brewin’ _ as a rule. The presence of a bar was good for morale, but he’d no desire to drink there, or to drink at all during the usual course of things. Tonight though he felt he could use something to settle his nerves, and in truth he wanted to gauge the reaction of the Settlement to Nate’s outburst. The bar where inhibitions were lowered and he might fade into the crowd seemed the most likely prospect.

The shack was aglow with string lights, the bar’s name picked out in guttering neon. A pair of Settlers argued jovially at the pool table, and the radio blared with the far-off sound of Diamond City. The bar was crowded and the heat of so many bodies pressed into such close proximity (many of them none too clean) made him doubt the wisdom of his plan, but it seemed too late to turn tail now, with Settlers nudging each other and pointing in his direction as he struggled toward the bar.

Wally, the Barman looked surprised to see him, but hid it quickly behind a wide smile. 

“Looks like we’re going up in the world if Paladin Danse is drinkin’ here.”

The man’s teeth were as snuggled and yellow as those of the stuffed glowing mole rat head mounted above the bar (which for some reason Wally had dubbed ‘The Green Monster’) but there was no malice in his tone.

“What’ll it be Paladin?”

“It’s just Danse. I’m not a Paladin any more. And I’ll take a Gwinnett.”

“Three caps.”

“I got this one.” 

Sturges patted his shoulder, then looked mildly horrified at having done so.

“Thanks,” said Danse quickly. “I appreciate it.”

Sturges nodded. “Least I can do. What you did...that was brave as hell. I hope things aren’t gonna be too difficult between the two of you.”

This was more than Sturges had said to him since they’d met which was perhaps what made him give an actual reply in place of the usual curt evasion.

“It’ll mend. He’s a good man. He just has a lot on his plate right now.”

“That’s for sure. Come sit with us, huh? Garvey wants to buy you a drink too. Good job you don’t have a long walk home.”

The topic of Nate didn’t come up again all through the evening, but Danse noted the considering looks some of the Settlers were sending his way. Nate was going to have to play things very carefully in the coming week. If only one of the Caravans would show up- that would surely be enough good news to distract from the General’s lapse of control. In fact when Nick pushed his way through the crowd, his yellow eyes scanning the faces intently Danse thought for a moment that he was bearing good news, a hope that died when he saw the grim set of the Detective’s mouth.

“What is it, Valentine, is it Shaun?”

“Shaun’s asleep,” Said Nick. “Kid’s upset, but he’ll live. Where’s the General?”

“The same,” Said Danse. “Why?”

Nick sighed. “You’d better wake him up. It’s bad news.”

“How bad?” Asked Preston, his voice low.

Nick shook his head. “Your new Settler’s started talking. And if what she’s saying is true, it’s about as bad as it gets.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this so far! I’m aware that both Danse and Nate have their jerky moments in this chapter. Hopefully you’ll stick with them anyway. Danse is a difficult character as there’s so much about him that’s sympathetic, but so much that is REALLY not. I’m hoping I’m striking the right balance this early in the story before he finishes his redemption arc.  
This was supposed to be a sexier chapter but it very much didn’t pan out that way. Hopefully it’ll hot up later. Sometimes the imaginary people refuse to follow the script.


	4. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic slurs.

It was dark when Danse shook him awake. For a few seconds the obliteration of sleep continued to cushion him, but the memories of what he’d done caught up to him as swiftly as they always did. A sorry cascade of the grubby, the cheap, the unworthy. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows on the thin, flat pillow.

“Nate, it’s alright. Take a moment.”

Danse, so unforgiving to his enemies, so generous to those he loved, whether he deserved it or not. He saw himself again, shoving Danse away from him with all his strength, the shocked faces of the Settlers as he scuffled in the street with his lover like a drunken Boot on shore leave.

“Danse, fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Nate.” Danse sat on the bed next to him, his face a mask of concern in the flickering lantern light.

“No it isn’t, I was out of control. I could have hurt you. I’m fucking losing it.”

“No, you’re not.”

There was an edge of urgency in Danse’s words that gave Nate a fresh twinge of guilt. But what the hell, Danse was right. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of shattering apart like this. People  _ needed _ him.

“Where’s Shuan?”

“With Nick. Listen though, Nate there’s something else. That new Settler Shaun found? She woke up, and according to Valentine she’s saying all sorts of crazy things. You need to get over there.”

“I need to talk to my son. To explain to him what a fuckup his dad is.”

Danse leaned down and kissed him. Nate breathed in his smell, sweat and soil and the metallic electrical scent of the power armor. A scent that would surely have wrinkled the upturned nostrils of any of his former neighbors, but which Nate found more alluring than any high-end cologne or perfume. It comforted him, as did the low, warm rumble of Danse’s voice.

“You were frightened that he’d been lost again. We’ve all been there, facing our greatest fears. Look...if you can’t do it tonight, if you need to wait until morning...”

“Nope,” said Nate, sitting up. “I’m still the Goddamn General at night, aren’t I?”

There were times when he could cheerfully have shot Preston Garvey right between the eyes for bestowing the title on him in those raw, vulnerable days when he’d thrown himself desperately at anything approaching a coherent pattern for life. The Minutemen. The Brotherhood. The U.S. Military all those decades ago- perhaps he hadn’t changed much after all. It seemed like wherever you washed up, broken and bloodied by life, there was always some guy willing to hand you a gun and tell you what your duty was. But feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t fix anything.

At night the streets of Sanctuary Hills looked closest to those he remembered. If you could ignore the belching rumble of the generators and the sway-backed roofs of the houses you could almost imagine the streets as they had been, flanked by neat lawns and tidy, prosperous homes, sprinklers purring as they gouted more pure water than these people had ever seen in their lives onto the smugly green lawns. Sanctuary Hills was prosperous now he supposed, but like its distant ancestor it could all be wiped away in an instant, no matter how high they built the walls, and the bigger the Settlement grew, the more the cracks seemed to show.

_ Boston Brewin’ _ was a nebula of light and noise, but the rest of the Settlement was lost in darkness, the over-bright glare of the streetlamps only intensifying the darkness beyond them.

Before they reached the clinic Danse pulled him away from the streetlights to lean stand against the wall of a vacant shack. The Paulson family had lived here, recently, but they’d died one after the other of the Bloodbug Flu, so-called because of the painful red lesions that swelled up on the victim’s skin, and even though the shack had been disinfected no one wanted to move in. Perhaps this new Settler could take it? They’d lost fifteen to the ‘Bug so far this year and without more Med-ex...

“Nate, are you with me?” Danse’s arms wrapped around him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on Nate’s back. “I’m going to ask you one last time, can you handle this tonight? Tell me straight.”

“Because you’re worried I’m going to lose it in front of everyone again?” His words sounded more bitter than he’d intended.

Danse was silent a second. “No. Because I love you.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve  _ your _ love either, but here we are.”

This was such a Danse statement that Nate had to laugh. “Anyone else would tell me how brave and kind and good I am.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” said Nate, emphatically. “Fuck, no. If you can love my fucked-up ass then maybe there’s some hope after all.” He sighed. “I get sick of being  _ him _ , sometimes. The Sole Survivor. The Vault Dweller. The General.”

“You don’t have to be him for me,” said Danse. “Just be Nate.”

Nate leaned against Danse.  _ If only that was true _ . He wanted it to be true, but he just couldn’t trust in it. Danse barely knew himself, let alone Nate. This was all so new. It had been different with Nora. The physical side of the relationship changed things, his  _ need _ for Danse that made him terrified of losing him, or letting him down. He’d loved Nora, but he hadn’t been in love with her, and her own strength had allowed him to be weak. She’d been like a big sister to him, a sister who had to put up with her annoying little brother no matter what. He didn’t have the luxury any more, and if Danse saw the true weakness in him, would he even want him?

It was easier not to talk. Nate shoved Danse back against the wall, turned on as always by the way Danse let himself be shoved, the strong body yielding to him. He slid his hands up inside Danse’s shirt, loving the way he gasped, his breath hot against Nate’s mouth. The surprised little noises as Nate bit at his lips, his fingers twisting Danse’s nipples, digging into the slabs of his pectorals hard enough to leave bruises made him feel powerful, if only for a moment..

“Is this the guy you want?” he whispered in Danse’s ear. “This fucking guy?”

Danse didn’t reply, but the hardness of his swelling cock rubbing against Nate’s own was answer enough.  _ If only I could be this guy all the time. This guy knows who he is and what he wants at least. _

He knew that they didn’t really have time for this, but hell he had to keep it together somehow and there were worse ways than this.

It was too dark to see anything, but in a way that made it better. He stepped back long enough to yank Danse’s shirt up roughly over his head and tug down his jeans to the knees, then pushed him backwards again against the cold metal wall, trapping him there with his body, Danse’s warm naked flesh seeming even more exposed in comparison to his clothed body. 

“Get your hands behind your back and keep them there, Soldier. I shouldn’t have to fucking tell you.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Danse. The mingling of shame and excitement in his tone got Nate’s cock twitching.

Fucking outdoors, those hasty public transgressions had always done the trick for Nate. He’d half a mind- the crazy, reckless- half that wanted to shove Danse out under the streetlights and do him on his hands and knees in the middle of the road. He thought that Danse would let him. And it was only knowing that he would that stopped him from really doing it. He’d done dirtier things with MacCready during the weird and wild three weeks they’d run together, but they hadn’t been nearly as loaded as they would be with Danse- but he wouldn’t do it without Danse’s enthusiastic consent. Let  _ him _ self-destruct if he had to, but not if it might harm Danse. It was enough for now to have him here in the shadows, not one hundred feet from the crowded bar. Was it less exciting for him to fuck another man now that it was allowed? Is that why he had to play these elaborately cruel power games?

_ Do you care? Just get on with it. _

He pushed his tongue into Danse’s mouth, his hand closing around the rigid warmth of his prick, squeezing just a little too hard. He kicked Danse’s feet roughly apart and reached lower to stretch and squeeze his balls.

“What’s going to happen now is that you’re going to get on your knees and suck your General’s cock, got it?”

Danse moaned in reply and Nate squeezed harder.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. You can touch yourself, but you don’t get to come.”

Danse didn’t protest, and Nate slapped his bare thigh hard. “Good boy, now get going.”

He turned around to lean back against the wall himself. He could barely see Danse as he moved to kneel in front of him, and that was kind of hot too. 

“Wait, before you start, light me a cigarette.”

He knew Danse disapproved of seeing him smoke, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. The tug of the fabric of his jeans against his own swollen prick as Danse worked his cigarette box and lighter out of his pants pocket got the hairs standing up on his arms. The momentary flick of the lighter flame showed him a tantalising image of the muscular, half-stripped Paladin on his knees, and then they were in darkness again.

He closed the fingers of one hand in Danse’s hair and leaned his head back on the wall, staring up at the starry sky as he breathed in the first lungful of smoke. Let the cancer duke it out with the radiation damage.

It had been a fun game for both of them, Nate teaching Danse how he liked to be sucked. He’d never played the teacher before. Jackson had been five years older than him and way more experienced. The hypocritical fuck. Danse was ten times the man in many ways. They were still getting used to each other, but Danse had proved a diligent student. As his tongue stroked its way up the underside of Nate’s cock he couldn’t help but think of Danse as he’d first met him, so abrupt and commanding and goddamn  _ superior _ . He gave the hair clenched in his fist a sharp tug, gratified by the startled intake of breath. Probably he was some sort of sicko to enjoy dominating this man- hurting him- while loving him, but it felt too good to question.

He let Danse do all the work, and Danse’s mouth was so warm and wet and sweet around his cock that it didn’t take him long to come. In fact he’d only half-done smoking his cigarette by the time he shot his load into Danse’s mouth. It was one of those short, hot, businesslike orgasms that leave you wanting more two minutes later, and he’d have liked to go another round. To have dragged Danse back to bed by his hard cock, but Generals had way less fun that he’d always thought the did, and his duty awaited.

“Get up and get dressed,” he said to Danse, pinching out his smoke and stowing it carefully away.

Dane did as he was told, but before he could move back towards the street, Nate pulled him close for another kiss, enjoying the taste of his own cum on Danse’s lips. 

“Thanks for that, love.” He nudged his hip against Danse’s groin. “Still hard, huh? Tough shit for you. I feel fucking  _ great _ .”

Talking that way was going to get Danse harder still and Nate was glad. He liked the thought of Danse suffering for him. “Untuck your shirt so everyone doesn’t see what a slut you are for your General’s cock.”

“Fuck, Nate.”

Danse rarely ever swore, and Nate smiled. If nothing else was easy, at least this was.

“Much as I’d prefer to stay here with you, we’d better get going, said Nate. “Let’s hope she doesn’t have anything contagious.”

“If you’re sure you’re up to it,” said Danse.

“Sure I’m sure,” said Nate. It sounded so convincing that he almost believed it himself.

The clinic was housed inside one of the original buildings to the east of the Settlement. Nora’s friend, Lindsey had lived here; her and her husband, John whose job title at Weatherby Savings & Loan had been so mind-numbingly tedious that Nate had never managed to commit to memory. He and Nate would make stilted smalltalk over the grill in the backyard as Nora and Lindsey laughed together in the kitchen, drinking cosmos and discussing the plays they’d been in together as students at Wellesley.

“Women’s gossip,” John would say in a tone that implied a united front against femininity. Nate could barely force himself to muster a polite laugh. He liked Lindsey and would have been far happier listening to her and Nora than trying to find any common ground with John, who admired his soldiering background in exactly the patriotic way that was guaranteed to have him clenching his teeth until he fancied he could hear them crack.

All his talk about the Red Chinese and the Brave All-American Boys who held the line.

What would he say if he’d seen that the Red Chinese were boys themselves, their mangled bodies frozen into the Alaskan ice pack alongside the identical corpses of their enemies? Would he slap Nate’s back and press another beer into his hands if he knew the real reason he’d been discharged? The All-American fumblings in the barracks and the trenches with Jackson-the man who’d popped his cherry, stolen his heart, then sold him out to save his career killing boys in the snow? His hurried marriage to Nora (who had her own reasons for wanting to present a squeaky-clean front for her higher-ups at the law firm) and the embarrassment it would have caused to his superiors if the public had known that the local poster boy for American Pluck was a fag had made him safe in the end, but on some days- especially those picture-perfect summer days trapped behind those gleaming, pitiless picket fences- it felt like the lie was slowly suffocating him.

_ Maybe this is actually better? At least now the monsters look like monsters. _

_ Or maybe life, like war, never changes. There is no better, only a series of different shades of survivable and not survivable. _

Danse squeezed his hand, startling him out of his memories. “Nate, are you sure about this? You still don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m sure,” said Nate, trying for a smile. “Stop asking, hon, seriously. I’m as me as I’ve ever been.” Typical really- finally living openly with a man, and somehow still ensnared in a web of bullshit macho lies. Danse’s kindness was well-intentioned but it was also chipping away at the temporary veneer of confidence dominating him had bestowed. 

Better for both of them that he tough it out, bullshit or not.

Mama Murphy came hustling out to meet them, the ridiculous slippers that she refused to replace with anything more practical flapping.

“Where ya been, kid? You better get in here.”

“She sick?”

Mama Murphy’s little claw closed on Nate’s arm. “I’m _ seein _ ’ stuff. Bad stuff, all around her. Followin’ her like a black goddamn cloud.”

“Don’t worry, Mama Murphy. Bad stuff happens out there. You know that.”

“This is different,” said Mama Murphy pulling him to a halt in the clinic’s front room. Salvaged filing cabinets filled with recipes and scavenged medical books, and stacked crates of chems leaned at precarious angles around the walls. Nate thought as always of the clean white medical bays of the Institute, the surgical suites, the supplies undamaged by fallout.  _ And you just blew it all up. _

It could have been salvaged.  _ He _ could have been salvaged.

But now was definitely not the time for  _ that _ fun line of thought. It would keep for later, when he was chasing sleep.

“How is it different?” Nate asked. 

“I don’t know. The visions aren’t clear.”

“Mama, you know we’re low on Jet as it is,”

“I ain’t asking for Jet!” 

He knew right away he’d said the wrong thing. The little woman looked furious. “I’m tellin’ you that something  _ bad _ is coming. Worse than before. Worse than anything else we’ve faced.”

“This isn’t helping,” Danse said. He had little patience for Mama Murphy’s visions at the best of times.

“What’s not helping is the two of you not listening!” snapped Mama Murphy. 

Nate, trying to head off the argument put a soothing hand on Mama Murphy’s hunched shoulder. “Tell me about it later, huh? You know how much we all depend on your sight.”

Danse made an impatient noise behind him.

“But you said she’s awake and talking?”

“She is. But..” Mama Murphy frowned. “I don’t think you should go in there.”

“First you demand I get him out of bed, and now he shouldn’t go in there?” Danse said.

“I’m getting a feeling about it. About her,” Mama Murphy insisted. “It wasn’t there while she was half-asleep. But it’s there  _ now _ . And it’s gettin’ stronger by the minute. Something ain’t right with her.”

“Is she contagious?” asked Nate. “I could wear the Power Armor, if it’s a concern.”

“It ain’t that,” said Mama slowly.

“We’re wasting time here,” said Danse. “Either she’s contagious or she isn’t.”

“She isn’t,” said Mama Murphy, “but...”

Danse walked past her down the corridor towards the lighted medbay.

Mama Murphy threw up her hands. “Ain’t it just like a man, always thinking they know best.”

“Sorry, Mama Murphy, it’s been a hell of a day,” said Nate.

She flashed him a tired smile. “I know it. You Okay, General? We don’t got much but I can spare some Jet if you need it?”

The offer was more of a slap than any hostility could have been.

“I’m fine,” said Nate a little more coldly than he’d intended. “I’m going to talk to her and then we’ll let her get some rest. You get her name?”

“Connie, but...”

Nate followed after Danse. Behind him he heard Mama Murphy sigh. “Just like  _ every _ goddamn man.”

Valentine sat on a chair at the side of Connie’s bed, sipping from his flask. 

“General. Danse.”

“Shaun Okay?”

“Peachy. He’s asleep in my room. We had a little chat. He won’t go wondering again.”

Nate shook his head. “I was way out of line. I sounded like my own old man.”

“Most of us do, sooner or later. Or those of us who have the privilege of old men”

“Some privilege,” Nate muttered. At least he hadn’t taken a belt to Shaun.  _ Nope just tried to trash the thing he cares about most with a sledgehammer because you got scared into losing your goddam temper _ . The one thing he’d always told himself was that he wouldn’t treat Shaun the way his dad had treated him and how long had it lasted? A few lousy months.

It was almost a relief to turn his attention to the scrawny figure sprawled across the spartan but clean bed.

The greyish skin was innocent of the lesions or boils of ‘Bug Flu, but the woman was pitifully gaunt and still seemed barely conscious.

Nate took a seat next to Valentine. “Connie, Ma’am, are you awake?”

The woman’ head rolled towards him. Her brown eyes had a glassy unfocused look. “I...I hope so. This ain’t a dream, is it?”

Nate chuckled. “Afraid not. But you’re safe here.”

The woman frowned. “No one’s safe. The General...I gotta warn him.”

“I’m the General,” said Nate. 

“Really, it’s you? I’m at Sanctuary?”

“As I told you, five times already,” said Nick. “She didn’t believe me. Fair’s fair- this ain’t the kind of face you expect to see outside of a nightmare.”

The woman was struggling to sit up.

“No, Miss just rest. If you want to talk, do it lying down. Where’d you come from? Were you with a Caravan?”

“No. I’m from Sunshine Tidings  _ Was _ from Tidings. It’s gone. It’s all gone.”

“What do you mean gone? The Caravan went missing?”

“I’m not  _ from _ a Caravan.” The woman’s pupils were wide and black, like she’d been taking Mentats and a sheen of oily sweat stood out on her forehead.

“Hush now, Ma’am said Danse. “Just try to stay calm and tell us what happened.”

“I told  _ him  _ already! She said, waving a limp hand at Nick. Tidings has  _ gone _ .”

“She said something about a fog,” prompted Nick.

“A fog?” asked Nate, sharply.

“Yeah,  _ it _ came out of the fog.”

“What came out of the fog?”

The woman went silent. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling as though looking through it into the depthless sky beyond it. “I don’t know what it was. It was....big. It was...The end of the world.”

“Have you been talking to Murphy?” asked Danse. 

Nate shot him a look. Perhaps this woman  _ was _ just repeating what she’d overheard from Mama Murphy, or maybe something out of a nightmare. But if something had happened to Sunshine Tidings he needed to know what it was.

“When you say Tidings has gone, what do you mean?”

“What I said. It...it came while I was out scavenging down at Jalbert. We had a Supermutant attack week before and they damaged the south wall, so we needed rubber. The fog had been coming in at night for a few weeks, so we didn’t think much of it. Sometimes we get a fog even that far inland, only this fog seemed different. Smelled wrong. Bad. Like something  _ rotting.  _ Real bad. Couldn’t see but a foot in front of your face. You could hear voices in it.”

“Voices?” asked Nate. He was thinking of Far Harbor. How could he not be.

“Sure, voices.”

“Whose voices?” asked Danse.

“Oh, dead people,”said the Settler. She smiled a little. Her teeth seemed very white against her grey skin. It was a shock seeing such white teeth in the Commonwealth where even youngsters had a mouthful of teeth that would have made the orthodontists of Nate’s time weep.

_ What big teeth you have, Grandmother. _

Nate shivered. Goddam Mama Murphy putting the wind up him. Not that this woman’s words were more comforting. “What do you mean, dead people?”

“ People who died. There’ll be more of them now I bet.”

Nate could hear Danse shuffling impatiently in his seat and spoke quickly.

“So did this fog have something to do with what happened in Sunshine Tidings?”

The woman shrugged. “I guess so. It came in the fog. Maybe  _ through _ the fog. Usually it would start to clear by mid-morning, but that day it just hung there. I was five miles out of Tidings, bringing rubber back for the fence repairs. Lana, my sister...she was meant to be with me, but she was still sleeping when I set out.”

The woman’s mouth twisted. “I thought I was being kind letting her sleep longer, ya know? She was just a kid.” Her hands trembled on the sheets, the line leading to the IV bag of Rad-X rattling like a snake.

“I’m sorry, Connie. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” said Nate. “But you came all the way here to tell me something, and I think I need to hear it. What happened?”

The woman’s eyes flicked towards his. They were empty somehow, like craters in the aftermath of some cataclysmic bombardment. 

“I saw it. From five miles away I saw it. Taller ‘n any building in the commonwealth. It saw me too.”

She smiled again a little wider. “Sure it did. Looked right at me even though I was all those miles away.”

“A Behemoth, perhaps?” began Danse.

“It weren't no Behemoth! It was bigger n’ Goddam Trinity Tower. It  _ looked _ at me.” She shuddered. “It  _ saw _ me.”

“So what did you do when it saw you?” asked Valentine, gently. Nate felt another flash of gratitude. If anyone could tease the whole of the story out of the shell-shocked woman it was Nick.

“I....I tried to hide,” says Connie. “There was a bus and I crawled under a seat and I waited, but it was still  _ looking _ at me. I could feel it.”

“What did it look like?”

“Like...I don’t know. It had eyes. A lot of eyes. And it was  _ dark _ . Like a hole in the sky that something was looking right through, but darker than dark.”

Danse glanced at Nate as if for explanation, but Nate was as lost as Danse was. They’d seen some strange things in the Commonwealth, but nothing like what this Settler was describing.

“And then what?” asked Valentine.

“After a while- I don’t know how long, but the sun was coming down again- I crawled out. I didn’t want to, but I knew that it had gone. I felt it leaving. And I knew where it had been and I knew what it had done, even though I hadn’t seen it yet. It...it wanted me to know. It was  _ laughing _ at me.” she was shivering hard now, like someone pulled out of snow bank. Some Chinese boy with his guts spilling out and sticking to the snow. Shivering and smiling with those eyes that locked suddenly with his but were seeing something else.

“Mama Murphy? Could we get some whisky here?” Valentine called. “Something to steady her nerves.”

“No! I don’t need whisky!” Connie’s voice was ragged. “I don’t fucking deserve it. You want to know what I found when I went back?  _ Nothing _ .” she laughed, a terrible choking sound. “Okay, not nothing. One Brahmin. That mean grey one that always ran away. Sunset Tidings was gone. That old Brahmin was walking in circles where the Settlement had been, only there was no Settlement. Me and that mean fucking Brahmin walking in circles, bawling like lost calfs.” She giggled. Nate didn't like the sound of that laughter. It was too close to hysteria.

“You said the Settlement was gone?” asked Nick, gently.

“Gone! Fucking gone! Fifty people, twenty huts, the market, the farm, the walls, there was nothing left, just bare earth, and shadows.”

“What do you mean shadows?” asked Nate.

“I don’t know!” Connie moaned. “These black shapes of people and dogs and Brahmin, scorched into the earth. Or...not  _ scorched,  _ exactly. Black shapes like they’d laid down and fallen through it.”

“Like the Caravans,” said Danse, sharply. “But no bodies, no ash? If they burned they ought to have left fat and bone at least. And the buildings and...”

“I think that’s enough for now,” said Valentine mildly. “Connie here needs some rest.”

He rose and Nate followed suit. Danse frowned but followed the two of them out of the room, stepping aside for Mama Murphy who was bustling in with a mug of something hot and by the scent of it, narcotic.

_ I hope whatever that is she made enough to share. It sounds like we’re gonna need it. _


End file.
